


Hard times in bad lands

by dancinguniverse



Category: True Detective
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinguniverse/pseuds/dancinguniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rust rubs his thumb over the spine of his notebook. “Not the end of the day yet.”</p>
<p>It’s 4:43 by the clock on Marty’s dashboard. “Near enough,” he says, and when Rust still doesn’t move, “Get the hell out of my car so I can go home and see my kids.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard times in bad lands

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Hard times in bad lands 苦地时艰](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1614791) by [Virgil (alucard1771)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/Virgil)



Jennifer Mills was six years old. They day they serve the warrant on her father is ugly, the air thick and smothering. Far off there’s the faint rumble of thunder, but the storm won’t break. It just hangs on the horizon like a grudge, angry and poisonous. Rust has his arms folded tightly around himself the whole ride out, and he doesn’t speak a word.

Luckily for all involved, it’s one of the support officers who finds the father in the shed out back and drags him around to the waiting car. Marty wouldn’t have been able to cuff him without breaking both his wrists, and a look at Rust’s face tells him it would have gone even worse in his hands. After Mills is driven away they go through the property cataloging evidence, and even though the wind picks up and the sky goes dark enough that they have to turn on the lights indoors, the rain won’t come. It starts to give Marty a headache.

They pack up their findings and drive back to CID in silence.

Rust doesn’t move when Marty finally pulls into the parking lot next to Rust’s truck.

“We’re here,” he says after he’s stared out his windshield long enough for a leaf to settle and blow away again and Rust still hasn’t shifted to leave.

Rust reaches down to gather his jacket and ledger from by his feet, but he moves slowly. “We still got the Lemar witness to track down,” he says, not moving for the door.

“Tomorrow,” Marty says wearily.

Rust rubs his thumb over the spine of his notebook. “Not the end of the day yet.”

It’s 4:43 by the clock on Marty’s dashboard. “Near enough,” he says, and when Rust still doesn’t move, “Get the hell out of my car so I can go home and see my kids.”

Rust’s expression doesn’t flicker, but Marty bites his tongue as soon as he hears the words aloud because he’s slow, but not that slow. It’s too late though, and now Rust is moving, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door. “Shit,” Marty mutters, and rubs at his temples. “Hold up.”

Rust is already reaching for the door, swinging his legs out, and Marty reaches over, grabbing his arm. “I said hold up.”

“Go home, Marty.” Rust’s voice is quiet, his back a tight, defensive line.

“What, and find you hanging in your closet come Monday? Christ.” He tugs on Rust’s arm until he shifts his weight back onto the seat, facing forward instead of leaning out to leave.

“I told you,” Rust says woodenly. “I lack the constitution for—“

“Jesus, shut up.” They sit quietly for a moment. The wind has picked up, and it throws a leafy branch against Marty’s roof with a smack. “You got the address for Lemar?”

Rust rubs at his jaw. “You should go see your girls.”

Marty sighs. “They got soccer until eight. I just remembered.” They’ll be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in Maggie’s car on the way to practice, and when they get home, it’ll be a rush of showers and homework. Marty will be lucky to kiss them goodnight.

Rust glances sideways at Marty, then rubs a hand over his face. “Get back on 10, head east.”

Marty puts the car back into drive just as the rain starts down.

They’re eight miles down the highway when Rust says, barely audible over the sound of the wipers, “Thanks, Marty.”

Marty pretends not to hear him.


End file.
